It's been a hectic few weeks, and my Friday was the sort that makes for good blog reading, i suppose, but i'd just as soon not relive it all again. My workday felt a cross between a live-action Dilbert comic and the movie Brasil peppered with moments of Waiting for Godot and Groundhog Day.
I wanted to get the last bit of work done when Jim decided he needed to use a litterbox and chose the makeshift one i have in my office. Its base is the top of an office box that once contained reams of office paper. I slipped a plastic liner around it and just this week thought i ought to use something a bit more permanent. So, a new litterbox was on my shopping list, and i was deliberating whether i ought to do the shopping after my work day on Friday night or just wait until the weekend.
Jim decided it for me because earlier when he had used the makeshift box, he took the overhanging part of the plastic liner and pulled it across the top of the litter. When he went to use the box again, he peed between the plastic and box. I do have the whole thing sitting on a black, plastic tray, so it was all contained, but still, there i was furiously typing away to meet deadline when the distinct sound of urination followed by the strong smell of cat urine filled the air. By the time i turned my head, Jim was more than halfway done, so there was little to do but let him finish and do my bit of shopping the second i got done with work.
I did a bit of muscial litterboxes before going shopping, as i wanted to get another covered one and thought it'd work best putting it in the guest room, and moving the one in the guest room, a small, open one, into my office since Jim seems to be the only one who uses the litter setup in my office.
Jo was outside, and Jim and Phoebe were in, so i washed the litterboxes and changed the litter while i was at it, discovering that i needed more litter so used up what was there and added that item to my list. I washed the black trays as well, which i use as bases for two of the boxes, as i saw that some urine had found its way onto the tray from the smaller box. I scrubbed, rinsed, dried, set things up, and carried out the bag with the soiled litter and makeshift litterbox with me after locking the door and having list in hand. The bag went into the bin, and i got in the car and used some hand sanitizer before setting off.
It was supper time and i figured it would be best if i got a bite to eat before tackling the shopping. I stopped at a chain diner type place and liked a sandwich they'd had on their menu for years. A couple was ahead of me waiting for a table, and it was clear they were in the early part of their relationship. They couldn't keep their hands off each other, and she kept cradling his buttocks with her hands as they talked with the hostess. No, they'd prefer a booth, if one were available. Bloody hell, you'd prefer a room more like, i thought as i stood there realizing that my leg was now starting to throb because i hadn't elevated it as much doing my work day as i probably should have, so it was complaining. I wanted to sit down, but even if i did, there wasn't any place i could elevate my leg easily, and i was wearing a skirt, as that's easier with the walking cast. The woman happened to look at me when she groped her boyfriend's backside for the third time, and i saw a lot of mileage in her face. I don't think she's always travelled easy paths, her hair looked bleached one too many times, and her jeans were bordering on too tight to walk easily.
I chided myself for being so judgemental. I was just cross at having one of those days where nothing seemed to go right, and well, if she's finally found someone she finds wonderful, bully for her.
No, there were no booths available, so they made do with a table.
The hostess saw me next, and sat me at a combination booth/table where one of the seats was like a booth and the other a chair. I was grateful that she sat me there as i could easily prop my leg up on the chair opposite me and had a bit of room to flop.
My waitress was young and had been sat a large party only a few minutes before. I quickly found out that one of them worked at a school district and she had some sort of grievance because they hadn't honoured the time she was supposed to have for vacation. Another person at their table was hard of hearing and the person sitting next to him was trying to have another conversation so the speaker was nearly yelling.
The menu was a new menu, and the sandwich i wanted wasn't listed. The waitress had never heard of it, and she suggested a workaround, which i agreed to try. She brought me my salad promptly, and after i finished, i needed to use the restroom. The grievance lady was now just wrapping up her story, the other conversation with the deaf/hard of hearing person had concluded, and as i rose, i caught of whiff of cat urine. It was only then i realized i had seen a wet spot on my skirt when i rinsed off the black trays after scrubbing them. Only, that wet spot must have dripped on there before... before... Oh, God, i was hoping no one else smelled it, but it was a bit late in the game to say anything, so i went in hoping i could clean up and get on with things.
The set up they had in the restroom was only with hand dryers, so there was no paper towelling i could use, and i had taken off my sweater because it was warm in the restaurant and had left it at my table. And, as i discovered when i looked down, the wet spot had since dried or been blotted by my sweater, so i wasn't exactly sure where the spot was. Or even if my skirt still smelled like it, or if it was all in my sweater now.
I returned to my table to find my sweater in the same place i'd left it, but everything else had been removed save the placemat. Salad dish, silverware, napkin, beverage all gone. The busboy must have thought i had left but then saw my sweater so stopped clearing things away. The large table was being served and half of the people were complaining about their order. Condiments added that weren't requested or left off when they should have been on.
My sandwich arrived looking very different from what i had described as what i had wanted, and what the waitress thought this would be, but i was really hungry and wanted to remain as low profile as the cat pee would allow me. Which i felt sure everyone on the planet could smell except me, now that i was desensitized.
A party had been sat right next to my table, and when i sat down, the smell of mothballs wafted over from them. Oh, good, that could cancel out any cat pee odor. Children at another table kept kicking their shoes off and even though their parents said it was time to go, the parents stood talking to another couple seated at a nearby table for the better part of 20 minutes.
If Rod Serling had suddenly appeared, it would've felt quite normal. Or at least have confirmed that i had indeed entered the Twilight Zone.
After paying my dinner check, i made my way to the big box store for the kitty litter and cat pan as my preferred local place was closed. I used the motorized cart thinking it best for my leg, only i hadn't figured on the aisles being not quite wide enough for me and a regular cart meeting up. I'm sure on paper, it's large enough, only just, and that's if both hug the edge as they pass. But there had to be some specially priced items in a cardboard tower in the aisle and the guy pushing the cart was a large man and clearly used to walking in the middle so as to avoid knocking anything over. I knew i'd laugh about it later, only just at that moment, it wasn't funny. I expected a Greek chorus to arrive any moment to sing about the fandango the large man and the cat pee lady in the motorized cart were undertaking.
Then i looked at the contents in my cart's basket. Kitty litter, tinned cat food, a litter pan, kitten kibble, and two bags of cat treats. Bloody hell, no wonder why i smelled like cat pee. I'm sure they all thought i was a loony and one of those crazy cat ladies.
Once outside, i transferred my items to a regular cart and pushed it to my car. I drove home as quickly as i could, grimacing as i depressed the clutch. Oh, the things we take for granted, like unfractured fifth metatarsals, clothes that don't smell like urine, and popular sandwiches offered for years on a menu.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NzlG28B-R8Y
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
And my prize is....
a copy of the Farmers' Almanac!
I had mentioned on my latest Sunday night chit chat post that my name had been selected in a drawing, but i wasn't sure what the prize was.
I'm glad for this prize, as i usually buy a copy each year, although last year i bought the Old Farmer's Almanac which is similar, but i prefer this one.
I had mentioned on my latest Sunday night chit chat post that my name had been selected in a drawing, but i wasn't sure what the prize was.
I'm glad for this prize, as i usually buy a copy each year, although last year i bought the Old Farmer's Almanac which is similar, but i prefer this one.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
25th anniversary
No, not mine, that was last year.
Today marks the 25th anniversary for the release of the movie The Princess Bride. It's a fun film to watch, and i really enjoy the sword fighting.
I'm going to be sure to have a light dinner so i can have room for popcorn and watch it this evening.
Today marks the 25th anniversary for the release of the movie The Princess Bride. It's a fun film to watch, and i really enjoy the sword fighting.
I'm going to be sure to have a light dinner so i can have room for popcorn and watch it this evening.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Sunday night chit chat, 23 September 2012
Carla says this can be a photo or saying.
“Those who wish to sing will always find a song.” - Celtic Proverb
Reading
A few things at the moment. "Advanced Sailing" by Tony Gibbs, "Grandma's Wartime Kitchen" by Joanne Lamb Hayes and "Eating for Victory" by Jill Norman
Watching
Watching
Nothing on the screen lately
Listening to
JoJo crunch kibble.
Cooking/Baking
Cooking/Baking
The weather's turned colder, and i decided to make some macaroni skillet pizza. I don't have pasta very often, so this is a treat.
Happy you accomplished this week
Happy you accomplished this week
One part of a very long, difficult work project. I've got another section to go and am hopeful that i'll have it finished by Tuesday.
Got to see some sailing friends yesterday as they returned to port and before they headed for home.
Got to see some sailing friends yesterday as they returned to port and before they headed for home.
Finished one of two mittens and hope to have the other done by this time next week.
My name was selected to win a drawing. I don't know what the prize is, but am shocked that i won, so that i shall like the prize no matter what it is!
My name was selected to win a drawing. I don't know what the prize is, but am shocked that i won, so that i shall like the prize no matter what it is!
Looking forward to next week
Visit from a loved one next weekend. It'll be nice to catch up.
Thankful for today
Glorious weather. It was hot outside, and i was wishing i could have gone sailing or hiking today. After allowing myself 10 minutes to pout about my walking cast, i decided that i could enjoy things around the house and be a patient patient by keeping the leg elevated.
Bonus Question
Believe it or not, i've thought about this from time to time, and with different numbers. No matter what, i'm giving away at least 10%; i have some pet charities and organisations i like and believe in, so should like some of the monies to go there. And perhaps to some who are very dear to me. If the number is BIG enough, i'd pay off all the debt (real estate debt). If there was still money left, i'd have to think about next steps. Would i be able to work part-time rather than full-time as i am now? Would i be able to retire at this very moment? Even if the answer were yes, i'd never have to work another job for pay again, i'd still give a two-week notice. I think i'd need at least that long to get over some of the shock!
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Mend it like Beckham
In searching web sites the other day to see how long i'll have to wear my Frankenboot, i came across the drfoot website (http://www.drfoot.co.uk ) where they discuss all things podiatry. They explain how the boot i have works and that many athletes have used it with great success. It was there that i saw the phrase in the title, and i've decided to adopt that as my mantra while my foot is healing. (The specific link is http://www.drfoot.co.uk/fractures_fifth_metatarsal.htm.)
I have no lingering dreams that the National Hockey League will ever call me up (and i doubt this season they'd even want me as a scab), nor do i think the US Olympic team will phone me, given that they consider women who are excellent players and half my age too old, but that doesn't mean i'm any less of an athlete. I am clearly not the fastest skater nor the most adept, but i do play hockey. If i could play as well as i think the game, i'd be another Wayne Gretzky or Bobby Orr. The challenge is for me to figure out what i CAN do given my abilities and to do it well while leaving room for improvement. I think there's a real niche for someone wanting to coach--the ability to take a bunch of determined but not terribly gifted athletes and bring out the best in them and help them improve their game. Yes, sounds like what many do with kids, but nobody seems all that interested when it's older women. Too bad, as many of us really want to improve, and we'd be glad for the opportunity.
My orthopaedist made a face when i told her i played hockey, and i got the distinct impression that she was ready to stick me in that middle aged woman box when i hobbled in with my fractured 5th metatarsal. While i cannot deny my cack-handedness, which i think may be partly due to the fact that i probably should be left handed, and while i may look a bit dumpy, here's a newsflash. I do stuff. I hike, sail, kayak, snowshoe, practice yoga, and play hockey. I also work a fulltime job, which is sedentary and which often has me busy more than 40 hours a week. My garden was a bust this year, but i still managed to can some tomatoes, dry some herbs, and am contemplating putting up some saurkraut.
The professional athletes i read about have only their professional job and can take oodles of time perfecting their bodies so they can excel at their craft. For everything else, they have the wherewithal to employ staff. Now, granted, not all do. But what i wish to point out is why, because i'm not in that creme de la creme athletic class, am i treated differently? I need my body to perform at its best to do ALL of these things. And not just for several years so i can earn heaps of money, invest it well, and retire, but for the rest of my life.
Mend it like Beckham? You betcha.
I have no lingering dreams that the National Hockey League will ever call me up (and i doubt this season they'd even want me as a scab), nor do i think the US Olympic team will phone me, given that they consider women who are excellent players and half my age too old, but that doesn't mean i'm any less of an athlete. I am clearly not the fastest skater nor the most adept, but i do play hockey. If i could play as well as i think the game, i'd be another Wayne Gretzky or Bobby Orr. The challenge is for me to figure out what i CAN do given my abilities and to do it well while leaving room for improvement. I think there's a real niche for someone wanting to coach--the ability to take a bunch of determined but not terribly gifted athletes and bring out the best in them and help them improve their game. Yes, sounds like what many do with kids, but nobody seems all that interested when it's older women. Too bad, as many of us really want to improve, and we'd be glad for the opportunity.
My orthopaedist made a face when i told her i played hockey, and i got the distinct impression that she was ready to stick me in that middle aged woman box when i hobbled in with my fractured 5th metatarsal. While i cannot deny my cack-handedness, which i think may be partly due to the fact that i probably should be left handed, and while i may look a bit dumpy, here's a newsflash. I do stuff. I hike, sail, kayak, snowshoe, practice yoga, and play hockey. I also work a fulltime job, which is sedentary and which often has me busy more than 40 hours a week. My garden was a bust this year, but i still managed to can some tomatoes, dry some herbs, and am contemplating putting up some saurkraut.
The professional athletes i read about have only their professional job and can take oodles of time perfecting their bodies so they can excel at their craft. For everything else, they have the wherewithal to employ staff. Now, granted, not all do. But what i wish to point out is why, because i'm not in that creme de la creme athletic class, am i treated differently? I need my body to perform at its best to do ALL of these things. And not just for several years so i can earn heaps of money, invest it well, and retire, but for the rest of my life.
Mend it like Beckham? You betcha.
Monday, September 17, 2012
The boot
Last Tuesday, i saw a simple tribute to 9/11 that i thought quite moving and wanted to take a few pictures of it. So, upon returning home from my errand, i got the digital camera took the short 10-minute walk to the fire station to snap a few pics and was on my home when i fell off the curb.
Yes, just another cackhanded moment, and my foot hurt a bit as i got up and walked the rest of the way home. I also had cut my hand a little when i fell on the pavement.
I cleaned myself up, got a bag of ice for my foot, and elevated the limb while the ice bag rested on my foot. Then i felt a queer stiffening along the outside of my foot and called my doctor's office. A visit there, a ride to the X-ray machine, and a visit with an orthopedist confirms that i have fractured my foot.
So, i'm wearing a walking cast, elevating my foot for most of the day, and keep the boot on unless i'm bathing or sleeping. Although for the first two days, i kept it on whilst sleeping, too.
My sailing season is over for the year. Ditto kayaking. No running, skating, hockey, hiking for awhile. Not sure how long, since it depends upon how bad the fracture is and how quickly the patient heals. I'm to have a two-week follow up, which is actually 16 days after The Event.
Driving is a challenge since my car is a standard transmission, and the boot doesn't allow my foot to bend the way it needs to in order to depress the clutch fully. So, i limit my driving to "only when absolutely necessary" moments and wear a slip-on clog for the drives.
The cats are purring, I haven't forgotten everything i learned from when i had the broken leg, and i believe if i'm a patient patient, the healing will come sooner rather than later.
I did do an Internet search to see how long these 5th metatarsal fractures can take. Anywhere between 3 and 12 weeks from what i've seen. Meantime, i'm glad i've a pair of jeans that i can wear without ripping the leg seam, and i've still got a few pair of cargo pants with the legs that zip off for shorts. It's just starting to get nippy here now where full leg coverings are appreciated in the morning and evening.
Yes, just another cackhanded moment, and my foot hurt a bit as i got up and walked the rest of the way home. I also had cut my hand a little when i fell on the pavement.
I cleaned myself up, got a bag of ice for my foot, and elevated the limb while the ice bag rested on my foot. Then i felt a queer stiffening along the outside of my foot and called my doctor's office. A visit there, a ride to the X-ray machine, and a visit with an orthopedist confirms that i have fractured my foot.
So, i'm wearing a walking cast, elevating my foot for most of the day, and keep the boot on unless i'm bathing or sleeping. Although for the first two days, i kept it on whilst sleeping, too.
My sailing season is over for the year. Ditto kayaking. No running, skating, hockey, hiking for awhile. Not sure how long, since it depends upon how bad the fracture is and how quickly the patient heals. I'm to have a two-week follow up, which is actually 16 days after The Event.
Driving is a challenge since my car is a standard transmission, and the boot doesn't allow my foot to bend the way it needs to in order to depress the clutch fully. So, i limit my driving to "only when absolutely necessary" moments and wear a slip-on clog for the drives.
The cats are purring, I haven't forgotten everything i learned from when i had the broken leg, and i believe if i'm a patient patient, the healing will come sooner rather than later.
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| photo from https://www.djoglobal.com/our-brands/aircast |
Monday, September 10, 2012
When the weather is fickle...
which it was this weekend, i decided against sailing. I wanted to go, and in retrospect could have done so without getting rained upon, but the partly cloudy and chance of showers forecast was just cloudy enough and just threatening enough that sailing seemed a daft idea. Saturday night, we had loads of wind with gusts approaching probably 60 mph (~96 km/hr) and before those big gusts at night, the wind kicked up enough that there was surf. Since i'm very much in the pleasure boating phase of my sailing life, that didn't appeal to me. And, i need to get a new batten for the mainsail, as one of them has gone missing. It must've been when Himself and i went out, and i was busily trying to furl the mainsail while Himself steered, or as from my point of view on the bow when i was taking down the jib, getting Dangerously Close to Other Objects.
Battens are long, slender bits of plastic that slide into handy little pockets along the part of my mainsail sail not attached to the mast (aka leech). Wikipedia shows a picture, but it has the batten line drawn too far across for my sail. The battens help keep the edge of flapping so it improves aerodynamics. Actually, the writing below the picture explains the roach--those of us who may have been potheads will undoubtedly have a different image floating in our brains...
The mainsail on my boat doesn't have such a defined roach, but the battens are there all the same.
I've a feeling a hole developed in the pocket's end, and while i was trying to furl the mainsail and direct Himself, as he was getting a little antsy about not seeing as much as before we lowered the main, that the batten slipped through the hole and caught enough breeze to go overboard. Himself wouldn't know to look for that, and i wouldn't, either. Hindsight being the wonderful gift it is, i can now add it to "things i also need to consider." That list has grown quite long.
SFB and i went sailing the weekend before this last one, which is when he said how that flapping or luffing shouldn't be, as it looked amateurish, and he was the one to discover the missing batten. So, it bothered his sensibilities, but not enough for us to stop sailing. We were trying to figure out when it occurred and the best i could figure was when Himself and i went.
The sailing season is fast coming to a close here, but i'd like to go until the end of September, and well, i need a batten so i decided i ought to go to the marine store on Sunday to pick up another. The weather was still that partly cloudy/will clear off but it took a long time clearing off.
I decided i'd be more productive at home canning tomatoes and doing some bits of cleaning around the house. If i went to the marine store, well, i'd just dawdle and not get much done. After canning the tomatoes, i dawdled. I also misjudged the yield i'd get from the 20 lbs of tomatoes i picked up.
I had canned some in 2010 and got two small boxes worth. Each box was a peck, so i had a half bushel, and canned quarts and pints. Yes, i wrote down how much, but can be buggered if i can find that piece of paper. This time around, the farmer had
10-lb boxes, but i wasn't sure how that compared to pecks. Two of the 10-lb boxes looked about right, and doubting myself after i brought them home, i went looking for answers. I found 14 lbs is 9 pints. Okay, so by using Algebra, 20 lbs would give me nearly 13 pints, and allowing for waste, a dozen pints would be adequate. Only i ended up with 18 pints. Not a bad problem to have, and i was glad to have had enough pint jars on hand and lids and screw tops. I had decided the 18th wasn't worth processing since i'd have to process it all by its lonesome (my canner has a rack for 7 bottles per load, and i didn't realize i'd need that seventh spot plus until after i'd processed the first dozen), and it was mostly juice since i smoosh the tomatoes and hot pack them. One of the lids didn't seal right on the other 17 and rather than wait an interminably long time for the water to boil so i could have another go, i opted for using a zippy bag and freezing the contents.
I have 13 quarts left from the 2010 session, and the 16 pints plus one quart frozen should keep us for a bit. I do like having the option to pick from pints and quarts since we are a small household. I shall endeavour to use up the quarts as they are older--i also need to rethink if i want to continue canning in quarts or just go with all pints, since i also canned pints in that 2010 session, and those have been consumed.
I'd like to do more canning than i do. But ceramic stoves aren't really made for that sort of thing. At the farmer's market, one of the stalls is run by an older couple who make all things pickled. A friend asked me to pick up several bottles of their piccalilli, which is pickled green tomatoes. They had samples, and it's got a sweet and sour taste. I told them it was a bit too sweet for my palate, yet i've thought back to that piccalilli nearly every day since tasting it. What does that say about me?
The couple is retiring at the end of this season, and the wife and i had a chat about canning. She said she uses a dome type canner that doesn't need as much water. "They run about sixty dollars," she explained, "but well worth it. I'm on my third one." She promised to bring information for me this week and will share the piccalilli recipe. I'll also pick up my friend's order then, as she requested more jars than they had on hand.
When i lived in Pennsylvania and frost was scheduled to arrive, i'd pluck the tomato plants with green tomatoes on them, hang them upside down, and let the fruits ripen inside down cellar. One year, we had the last tomato on Thanksgiving Day. But i'm far enough north now that that won't happen, unless we celebrate Canada's Thanksgiving (mid October), and there've been enough rodents down cellar here that i'd only be feeding them instead of ourselves. So, piccalilli may find a way into my life after all.
Some forecasters are saying we'll have a warmer than usual autumn this year. If that's true, then i might get to enjoy the second raspberry harvest from the everbearing vines. The previous owners planted them, and they do yield yummy berries. The first harvest is in July and the second early to mid October. Last year i got 3 berries in the second harvest before frost came. We also got a foot of snow on Hallowe'en.
This year, i didn't do any gardening to speak of. I decided to spend time sailing and kayaking instead. I'm not sorry for it, as i've had a lot of fun, and i can buy cukes and whatnot to can, although that's not quite the same as plucking from one's own garden and pickling or putting by.
Perhaps when i'm retired from working full-time, i'll be able to do both.
Battens are long, slender bits of plastic that slide into handy little pockets along the part of my mainsail sail not attached to the mast (aka leech). Wikipedia shows a picture, but it has the batten line drawn too far across for my sail. The battens help keep the edge of flapping so it improves aerodynamics. Actually, the writing below the picture explains the roach--those of us who may have been potheads will undoubtedly have a different image floating in our brains...
The mainsail on my boat doesn't have such a defined roach, but the battens are there all the same.
 |
| The picture from Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Parts_of_a_sail.svg) |
I've a feeling a hole developed in the pocket's end, and while i was trying to furl the mainsail and direct Himself, as he was getting a little antsy about not seeing as much as before we lowered the main, that the batten slipped through the hole and caught enough breeze to go overboard. Himself wouldn't know to look for that, and i wouldn't, either. Hindsight being the wonderful gift it is, i can now add it to "things i also need to consider." That list has grown quite long.
SFB and i went sailing the weekend before this last one, which is when he said how that flapping or luffing shouldn't be, as it looked amateurish, and he was the one to discover the missing batten. So, it bothered his sensibilities, but not enough for us to stop sailing. We were trying to figure out when it occurred and the best i could figure was when Himself and i went.
The sailing season is fast coming to a close here, but i'd like to go until the end of September, and well, i need a batten so i decided i ought to go to the marine store on Sunday to pick up another. The weather was still that partly cloudy/will clear off but it took a long time clearing off.
I decided i'd be more productive at home canning tomatoes and doing some bits of cleaning around the house. If i went to the marine store, well, i'd just dawdle and not get much done. After canning the tomatoes, i dawdled. I also misjudged the yield i'd get from the 20 lbs of tomatoes i picked up.
I had canned some in 2010 and got two small boxes worth. Each box was a peck, so i had a half bushel, and canned quarts and pints. Yes, i wrote down how much, but can be buggered if i can find that piece of paper. This time around, the farmer had
10-lb boxes, but i wasn't sure how that compared to pecks. Two of the 10-lb boxes looked about right, and doubting myself after i brought them home, i went looking for answers. I found 14 lbs is 9 pints. Okay, so by using Algebra, 20 lbs would give me nearly 13 pints, and allowing for waste, a dozen pints would be adequate. Only i ended up with 18 pints. Not a bad problem to have, and i was glad to have had enough pint jars on hand and lids and screw tops. I had decided the 18th wasn't worth processing since i'd have to process it all by its lonesome (my canner has a rack for 7 bottles per load, and i didn't realize i'd need that seventh spot plus until after i'd processed the first dozen), and it was mostly juice since i smoosh the tomatoes and hot pack them. One of the lids didn't seal right on the other 17 and rather than wait an interminably long time for the water to boil so i could have another go, i opted for using a zippy bag and freezing the contents.
I have 13 quarts left from the 2010 session, and the 16 pints plus one quart frozen should keep us for a bit. I do like having the option to pick from pints and quarts since we are a small household. I shall endeavour to use up the quarts as they are older--i also need to rethink if i want to continue canning in quarts or just go with all pints, since i also canned pints in that 2010 session, and those have been consumed.
I'd like to do more canning than i do. But ceramic stoves aren't really made for that sort of thing. At the farmer's market, one of the stalls is run by an older couple who make all things pickled. A friend asked me to pick up several bottles of their piccalilli, which is pickled green tomatoes. They had samples, and it's got a sweet and sour taste. I told them it was a bit too sweet for my palate, yet i've thought back to that piccalilli nearly every day since tasting it. What does that say about me?
The couple is retiring at the end of this season, and the wife and i had a chat about canning. She said she uses a dome type canner that doesn't need as much water. "They run about sixty dollars," she explained, "but well worth it. I'm on my third one." She promised to bring information for me this week and will share the piccalilli recipe. I'll also pick up my friend's order then, as she requested more jars than they had on hand.
When i lived in Pennsylvania and frost was scheduled to arrive, i'd pluck the tomato plants with green tomatoes on them, hang them upside down, and let the fruits ripen inside down cellar. One year, we had the last tomato on Thanksgiving Day. But i'm far enough north now that that won't happen, unless we celebrate Canada's Thanksgiving (mid October), and there've been enough rodents down cellar here that i'd only be feeding them instead of ourselves. So, piccalilli may find a way into my life after all.
Some forecasters are saying we'll have a warmer than usual autumn this year. If that's true, then i might get to enjoy the second raspberry harvest from the everbearing vines. The previous owners planted them, and they do yield yummy berries. The first harvest is in July and the second early to mid October. Last year i got 3 berries in the second harvest before frost came. We also got a foot of snow on Hallowe'en.
This year, i didn't do any gardening to speak of. I decided to spend time sailing and kayaking instead. I'm not sorry for it, as i've had a lot of fun, and i can buy cukes and whatnot to can, although that's not quite the same as plucking from one's own garden and pickling or putting by.
Perhaps when i'm retired from working full-time, i'll be able to do both.
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